


the one that lives behind his heart

by Addie_D_123



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, Halloween, Hand & Finger Kink, Horror, M/M, Oral Fixation, Violence, Weecest, dark!Sam, jealous!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2543357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Addie_D_123/pseuds/Addie_D_123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is the spark, Sam is the fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the one that lives behind his heart

Sam shoves open the back doors to Morton High hard enough to bang the handles into brick and quickly steps outside. He hates this place. Full of privileged assholes that don't even have the decency to ignore him. As far as they're concerned he is as thin and impermanent as air, a ghost. He has to agree, so maybe it's time to be moving on. He scans for the familiar black silhouette where his brother waits to pick him up. This is the first time he ever saw her. Leaned back against the Impala casually like she belonged there. Honey blonde hair pulled up in a pristine pony tail, sun warmed skin and cool gray eyes matching the Fall sky. Her lips are painted the same bubble gum pink that she chews open mouthed, blowing tiny bubbles and popping them in quick succession. Three at a time.

*snap snap snap*

“This is Stacey.” Dean replies to Sam’s questioning expression. “I’m just giving her a ride home.” She barely acknowledges him.

Turns out she snaps that gum near constantly. The whole ride to her house she turns it over in her mouth, every pop making Sam’s eye twitch. The sound like a ticking time bomb that settles deep in the cold pit of his belly. She only pauses to laugh loud and carefree at something Dean has said, tossing her hair and throwing her head back. She is sitting in Sam’s seat, he can only stare at the back of her head and scowl.

*snap snap snap*

He wishes she would choke on it.

Arriving at her place Sam makes note of the address and nearly misses the predatory look she shoots Dean before hip checking the door closed. “See you at nine.” She purrs and Sam mumbles from the back seat, making no move to take his usual place at Dean’s side.

“What’s at nine?”

“What was that Sam? Can’t hear you from all the way back there.” Dean grins into the rear view mirror, teasing.

“Dean, what’s at nine?”

“Oh that.” Realizing that Sam won't be joining him in the front, he pulls the tires back on the road and starts for their run down rented bungalow.

“Just going over by Stacey’s for a while later. Gonna watch some movies or .... whatever.” A pause, Dean glances up at Sam’s reflection and waggles his brows. “Her parents are out of town.”

Sam wraps his arms around his middle and tries to hold himself together. Stabbing hurt deep down in his stomach, something explosive is buzzing around his insides. He digs his fingers into his sides and holds on.

“Tonight is Halloween.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“But we never go out on Halloween.” Sam’s voice is barely a whisper but when I comes to Sam, Dean can read lips.

"I know man. But I was thinking this one time I’d make an exception.” Dean pulls to the curb and slides her into park when a flash of recognition crosses his face. Smiling back at Sam again, he is oblivious. “Look what I got us.”

He tosses two giant bags of candy at Sam without warning, both colliding with his chest and slinking into his lap. “Reese's and Kit Kats man. Your favorite.”

Sam abandons the candy on the floor of the car and slams his door as hard as he can. Stalks right past Dean frozen on the sidewalk with his disgruntled "Hey!" and unlocks the front door without a word. Dean chases after him a few moments later, a bag of chocolate in each hand. Sam is on the couch, kicking off his shoes and stripping off his jacket, each action sharp with anger. Dean crashes down next to and nearly on top of him. Plotting.

“C’mon Sammy.” Ripping each bag open with his teeth, his tongue peeks out from the corner of his mouth and sweeps across his bottom lip. A perfect shade of pink prettier than any part of Stacey and her disgusting gaping maw.

“Trick or treat?” Dean with a candy bar in one hand, he holds both behind his back and stares at Sam with feigned seriousness.

“Which hand little brother?”

He wants to say both. He wants to grab his hands and run them over his face. He wants to lick at his palm and slide it down the front of his pants and wrap the other around his throat. He wants so many things.

“Right.”

“Wrong choice kiddo.” Dean pulls his arms around to the front and opens them both, palms up. The candy comes out of the wrapper melted from the warmth of his left hand. Chocolate smears along his thumb and forefinger as he pops the peanut butter cup in his mouth, and it sparks the fire in Sam’s chest.

Lunging forward he wraps both hands around Dean’s wrist, squeezing painfully in warning when Dean tries to pull away. He leans in close to his face, their mouths so close that he can taste the peanut butter on his own lips from Dean’s panted breath.

“Don’t go out tonight.” The ‘with Stacey’ is implied. “Stay here with me.”

Eyes locked with Dean’s, he pulls his head back before reaching out with his tongue. Wraps it around his brother’s finger and slides it into his salivating mouth. He tastes chocolate and peanut butter and _Dean_. Sliding his mouth up and down, he feels the whirls of his fingerprint scrape along his bottom teeth as he pulls off with a wet _pop_. When he switches to his thumb he makes sure to give a little lick and swirl around the tip, and Dean groans.

“ _Sammy_.”

A pained growl from somewhere deep in his chest, the place hidden behind his heart. Dean’s face is flushed red hot and Sam is so hard it hurts. So he closes his eyes and sucks and sucks until all he can taste is skin. Dean’s skin. The fire is burning him up inside, the smoke stinging his eyes.

“Sammy please.”

Dean is transfixed, stares at Sam like he's seeing him for the first time. Like he's a different animal. Sam just wants him to feel it, just needs him to know. So he drags Dean’s free hand across his lap, presses it against the hard hot line of him. Grinding his hips up into it he moans at the contact and feels the sound vibrate through his brother’s delicate bones. Dean’s voice is barely a whisper but when I comes to Dean, Sam can read lips.

“Sammy … _stop_.”

Sam jumps like he was just shocked, nearly biting him as he scrambles back to the far side of the couch. Dean with hands up palms out as if ready for a blow, his fingers still shiny with Sam’s spit. His eyes are glassy with tears, but his voice is eerily calm.

“Sam, we-we can’t.”

Sam can barely breathe, his words come out in a hiss.

“Yes we can.”

Dean with eyes wild and voice soft as if consoling him.

“ _I_ can’t.”

And if Sam’s voice sounds like a warning that could explain why Dean flinches.

“Dean. Don’t. Leave.”

Dean’s face clouding with darkness, he stands on shaking legs, spilling candy across the couch and onto the floor. Runs a hand through his hair and adjusts himself carefully. Sam feels a flutter low in his belly when it's obvious that Dean is as hard as him.

“Huh. You know Sammy that didn’t sound like you askin’.”

“It wasn’t, that was me telling you. Stay.”

Dean has taken a few steps back, eyes wide on Sam as if he's awaiting an attack.

“Jesus Sam, sometimes you sound so much like Dad…” Dean trails off. Opens his mouth once, twice. Finally his shoulders slump and he turns. Retreats.

“Dean!” Sam yells after him. He can feel the fire spreading from his chest down his arms and into his fists. It lives in his veins now.

When Sam hears the shower turn on and he knows he can make it to her house and back by the time Dean has the courage to slink back out. He runs until his lungs burn and his muscles scream. Eyes stream tears of pain at the pull of long legs eating up concrete. He pities her in a way. She didn't understand who Dean belongs to, but soon she will. And it's really too easy to pick the lock of her front door with his steady clever hands. He creeps up the darkened stairs silently and finds her in her bedroom. Walls the same sickening shade of pink as her gum and her stupid hungry mouth.

This is the last time he will ever see her. Sitting cross-legged on her bed, mirror in one hand and lipstick in the other. Eyebrows draw together, her face flickering a look of recognition before his hunter’s skills take over. He incapacitates her quickly with a strike to the throat. Hand like a knife, two fingers jab into her windpipe. Her hands claw at her neck, eyes bulging as she struggles to pull air into her lungs. Legs kick out weakly and sweep the contents of her bag across the floor. Green eye shadow, silver sparkles, black eyeliner and pink pink lipstick.

His fist connects with her jaw once, twice, before he hears the sickening slide and _pop_ of it dislocating. Scrambling to the side she ducks his next swing but ends up on her knees at the side of her bed. Looking up at him, her arm outstretched with palm facing out as if she can deflect his next blow. As if she can stop him, as if anything can. Sam is no longer on fire, he is the fire.

He is an inferno.

Crackling wet breath bubbles down her chin, paints her pink lips red and he hits her again. Falling to her side, he kicks at her now. She is so quiet, so still he can hear the breaking of each rib clearly in the silence, eerily familiar. Boots swing into her side, furious stomps in quick succession. Three at a time.

*snap snap snap*

For once Sam is thankful for Halloween night and all that comes with it. No eyes linger on him as he strolls down the sidewalk back home. The young boy with the blood splatter. Blood on his face, blood in his hair. Sticky fingertips have smeared pink streaks across his white t shirt. His hands are dripping with gore. Swollen knuckles sting where her teeth have nearly cut through to bone.

And Dean’s is waiting for him on the couch when he gets back, just like he knew he would be. Doesn’t ask him where he’s been, what he’s been doing. Just looks him over and assesses the damage.

“Are you hurt?”

There was no anger in his tone, no accusations, just a sad resignation. Sam _is_  hurt he thinks. He hurts in his chest and his stomach. His fire is extinguished and has left him hollowed out and cold.

“Yeah.”

First, Dean pushes him into their tiny bathroom, strips off Sam’s shirt. Scrubs his face with a white washcloth that's quickly turning pink. Carefully cradles his hands under the tap, wincing in empathy. “You broke your finger.” He whispers quietly, almost like he doesn’t know how it happened. Sam's breathing seems too loud in the small space, his limbs like jelly. He thinks distantly about the aftereffects of adrenaline, tries to catch his brother's eye.

Dean reaches up and hooks his fingers into the dip between Sam’s throat and collarbone.  Digs in and pulls him until their foreheads press together. Dean's cool skin a relief against Sam's fevered brow. Breathing the same damp air, Dean’s eyes are focused on the floor.

“Pack up your stuff when were done here.”

He reaches for his hands then, kisses each knuckle and kitten licks at the blood that wells up fresh under his lips. Cleaning him, healing him. Sam’s knees nearly give out and he stifles a whimper.

“We’re leaving tonight.”

Sam’s head knocks into his brother’s with a sharp little nod. He listens to Dean breathe, slow and steady and he tries to match it. He still won’t look at him, his jaw working like he's chewing over words. But when Sam moves to turn away Dean’s hand stops him. His left hand clasps around the back of his neck, squeezing and possessive. His right settles over Sam’s heart and pushes hard, clawed like he wants to reach right into his chest and steal it. But Sam knows it's already his.

“Sam, is she ..." the 'dead' goes unsaid. And Sam is giddy with the knowledge that he will have four little fingertip bruises across his chest tomorrow. His unspoken words hang in the air between them, but with one final squeeze his hands drop to the side.

"I don't know." And Sam is sorry because really doesn't, he didn't check. Stupid stupid.

“We’re done here."

“But Dean, what about the house?”

Dean knows he means theirs. No one will be going anywhere near her's, too risky. And Dean is smart.

“I’ll take care of it.”

Sam whispers.

“What about Dad?”

Dean looks up now, his eyes determined and voice steady.

“I’ll take care of it.”

And Sam doesn't need to question him, because Dean never lets him down. They pack up, jump in the Impala and are on the road in minutes. Because they’ve been doing this their entire lives. Pick up, leave town, gone without a trace. Sam rolls the window down as they make their getaway, his brother's Baby stretching her legs and running into the night. The chilly October wind carries the laughter of trick-or-treaters through the car, tingles the tips of his fingers and he shivers.

But Sam never has to worry. Not about the cold or the hurt or the loneliness or the fear. Dean is the spark that starts the fire deep inside his chest, the one that lives behind his heart. And Dean always knows how to keep him warm.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to put this up on Halloween when I wrote it, but a week late's not too bad. xx


End file.
